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<title>One meter across, ten centimeters down. by Island_of_Reil</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29197812">One meter across, ten centimeters down.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil'>Island_of_Reil</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crying, F/F, Future Fic, Guilt, Mildly Jossed, Nightmares, POV Second Person, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:33:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29197812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She taught him for five weeks. You protected him for ten years.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mikasa Ackerman &amp; Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman/Annie Leonhart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>One meter across, ten centimeters down.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Different night, same dream, same memory.</p><p>You land on the nape of the … thing, not even a titan, that he commands. Your hands should be shaking, your knees buckling, but your training, maybe your blood too, hold you up as straight as your sword as you unloose it. </p><p>One meter across, ten centimeters down.</p><p>Black hair, long and wild, matted with sweat. You fist your glove in it and haul him out, the fresh stumps of his limbs already steaming.</p><p>His gore-streaked face tilts upward to yours. There is no rage, no condemnation, no regret in his eyes, because they are thick, opaque voids of white. Just like those of his small-boy self in the Paths. Just like the Founder's.</p><p>He does not speak, not even your name. You'd say he's depleted, spent, but you aren't sure if you can actually say that of someone with the Founder's power behind him. You can't imagine him acquiescent, ever… but are you wrong? He gave all of you the choice. He said he wouldn't stop you, and he kept his word. He knew there was a chance you might win. Maybe he accepts it, now, like he's never accepted anything else in his life.</p><p>Your hands still not-shaking, your knees still not-buckling, you put your sword to the edge of his neck. <i>My speciality is cutting up flesh.</i> He continues to say nothing, to stare at you sightlessly, like he's staring through you into unnatural skies. You bare your teeth, the corners of your mouth turned down, your eyes stinging, your nose burning, and —</p><p>— you awaken, all the tremors you suppressed in the dream and when you killed him in reality bursting from your flesh like springs too tightly wound.</p><p>Her arms go around you, like yours went around her when you all thought Mr. Leonardt was dead. She says nothing. This is, perhaps, the thing you appreciate about her the most. She holds you and lets you cry, not dainty sobs but loud, animal howls, ripped raw and ugly from your throat, from your guts. As if he'd won and the world was ending for real, instead of all of you keeping it going in all its cruelty and beauty.</p><p>When you quiet a little, she grabs a handkerchief from the nightstand drawer, then blots your face kind of roughly, and then her bare shoulder that you've gotten tears and snot all over. She balls the handkerchief up and pitches it into a corner. It's fine, you'll have to clean the place before long anyway.</p><p>She's still silent for a little while, though she continues to hold you. Then she says, kind of abstractly, "I guess I shouldn't have ever have taught him how to fight."</p><p>She says it every time you have the nightmare. It was kind of funny the first time; your lips twitched a little. As time goes on it sounds less like a joke and more like a confession.</p><p>You squeeze her shoulders in return. What can you say? She taught him for five weeks. You protected him for ten years, long after everyone else had seen him for what he was.</p><p>Eventually she says, "Time to get up." You sigh, squeeze her one more time, and head for the shower, to wash your tears and snot and the blood on your hands down the drain.</p>
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